


A Familiar Dance

by EllanaSan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post ADWD, Post canon, no real spoilers for last book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steel sang as they danced. Still, he wished he could win at least once. If only because of a certain oath she had sworn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Familiar Dance

**Author's Note:**

> 40 “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”
> 
> I was taking drabble requests last night on tumblr and someone prompted this for Jaime and Brienne and… Let’s say Jaime and Brienne always got my muse flowing so it indeed being less of a drabble and more of a short one-shot. I hope you will like it. It’s not anything grand but those two… Well I love them, okay?

Steel sang as they danced.

It was a well rehearsed choreography by now, too in tune with each other for their everyday morning spar to be otherwise. Jaime would never be as good with his left hand as he once was with his right and while he was still good enough to win a fight against most people, Brienne always won against him. She was the best knight and the best swordsman – or swordswoman. He had made his peace with that a long time ago. If he had to be bested, he was glad Brienne was the one to do the honors.

Still, he wished he could win at least once.

If only because of a certain oath she had sworn.

“A bit tired this morning, are we?” he taunted as she pared his sword a fraction of second too late for the third time since they had begun their dance. “Tell me, wench, is the audience bothering you?”

They always had their share of spectators : stable boys, squires, people who had nothing else to do but gawk. The Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth. They had written songs about them, about their courage in the great winter war, about their love, about their lust… Songs were only songs though, even if her choice to seek refuge on the Rock had made a lot of people talk. Every day she talked about leaving, every day he waved that thought away.

She wouldn’t leave and they both knew it. Tarth had been destroyed by the Greyjoys and she would never have been cruel enough to leave him to the exile the dragon queen had sentenced him to. A life secluded in Casterly Rock could sound like a sweet sentence in regard of his crimes but for him it was torture. He was born to fight not to settle disputes, manage the estate and represent the House of Lannister. His advisors were pressing him of marrying, producing a heir…

He would have been happy not to have any more children. It was too difficult to lose them and mourning the three born from his seeds had almost killed him more surely than the Others. Not that Brienne would have allowed that. She was stubborn when it was about keeping him alive.

“Not at all.” she replied.

Their swords clung together again.

“You are distracted.” he insisted, jumping back just in time to avoid the tip of her sword.

“Distracted or not, I can still beat you.” she sulked with her usual stubbornness.

“Undoubtedly.” he granted, his pride long accustomed to that fact.

She broke the dance, stepping back and lowering her sword, a frown on her face. It only enhanced the terrible scar on her cheek. She truly wasn’t pretty. But then he met her eyes and he forgot all about it.

“Aw, my Lady, I would love to beat you in a fair fight too and claim my prize but I am unsure it would be considered valid if you simply stand there and take it.” he snorted. “Although I gather that’s how most noble ladies do it when marriage is concerned.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, correcting her stance. “I wish you would stop jesting about that.”

“I wish we had finished our first dance in the Riverlands.” he shot back. “Then I shall have beaten you and you wouldn’t keep on rejecting my offer.”

“Stop it, Jaime.” she snapped.

The use of his name, more than anything else, made him lower his own sword, its tip hitting the sand of the training ground in a small puff of dust. “Why do you always assume I am mocking you when I offer marriage, Brienne?”

Their audience, probably sensing their sour moods that morning or wary of the subject everyone was gossiping about but never mentioning in public, quickly made themselves scarce.

“Because you could have any woman you set your eyes on.” she argued. “Even now. If you are acting out of a misguided sense of duty…”

“I can’t wait to hear you explain what sense of duty could make me want to take you for a wife.” he scoffed.

Her cheeks burned red but she didn’t flinch, she didn’t avert her eyes. She would have a lifetime and a war ago.

“The Kingslayer’s whore?” she spat. “You know what everyone think and you are too noble to…”

“I wish you were.” he cut her off. “I wish you were my whore if you won’t be my wife.”

“ _Now_ you jest.” she hissed. “And that’s cruel.”

“But I don’t.” he sighed, waving his sword in his annoyance.

She looked guarded, almost spooked. It was hard sometimes to remember she was so much younger than he was, so much more innocent in more ways than one.

“I would have you for my lady wife if you would have me for your lord husband. I care little for oaths, as you know, but my oaths to you I’ve always done my best to keep and those would be no exception.” he pressed. “I am genuine in my affections, Brienne. You can’t deny me my feelings.”

She looked vulnerable and he didn’t like it. It reminded him of the nights after Lady Stoneheart, the nights they had never talked about because she had spent them crying on his shoulder. She had been sullen ever since, broken in a way he didn’t know could be fixed. Even finding Sansa hadn’t cheered her up.

He attacked her and she pared just in time. They started dancing again. The song of the steel grounding her.

“I am not cut out to be a wife.” she answered.

“And I am not cut out to be the Lord of the Rock and yet here we are.” he shrugged. “The war is over, wench. Let’s enjoy the spring.”

They danced for a while without one of them taking the upper hand on the other.

“Your wife will always be second to your great love.” she said, coupling her words with a swing it took all his strength to par.

He rolled his eyes at her, pleased nonetheless by the hint of jealousy he could detect in her voice.

“I have known great love and great passion, that’s true enough.” he declared, faking a hit on the right to attack on the left. She saw clearly through his ruse though. “I have learned that passion makes men grow mad and love push them to better themselves. Cersei was passion. As for love… My wife will only come second to my great love if you refuse me and I’m forced to marry someone else.”

She almost tripped on her own feet but he was gracious enough not to seize the opportunity to win the fight. It would hardly be fair and she made him want to play fair. Always. He would have become the knight from the songs for her.

They exchanged a few blows. She was clearly deep in thought.

“And what of _your_ feelings, my lady?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. At least not verbally. But suddenly there was an opening in her fighting stance and batting the sword away from her hands was instinctive.

It was only once it was on the ground a few feet away that he realized the mistake had been too obvious for someone as skilled as she was and that it was an answer in itself.

She would only marry someone who could beat her with a sword.

Of course, one could argue that it didn’t count because he hadn’t really won but the fact that she had _let him win_ was a victory in itself.

He dropped his own sword.

“May I officially ask for your hand now?” he asked, unable to hide the note of yearning.

“You have my hand.” she replied, almost shy. “You have my heart too.”

Those words were balm on his battered heart. He crossed the space between them, framed her face and kissed her before she could think twice and deny him once more. Her kiss was clumsy but perfect in its own right and he was grinning like a fool when he drew back, staring at her lips. He couldn’t help a snort.

“Have I entered another universe or did you just really crack a smile for me?” he teased because it had been years since the last time he had seen her smile. “See? Married life agrees with us already.”

“We are not yet wed.” she rebuked.

“Oh, leave it to me, Brienne.” he replied softly. “We’ll be wed before the day is through.”


End file.
